The Deduction of John Watson
by Graffiti2DMyHeart
Summary: Sherlock finds himself rebooting his mind after falling asleep, much to his annoyance, and he pieces together what happened. Silly John. You are as discreet as an elephant wearing tapshoes. Or Anderson's nose. Both are obvious and annoying. Friendship/Fun


**A/N: This is my first "Sherlock" fanfiction and I hope many more will follow. This is my entry for the "Sherlocking" contest that is going on. While I do slash these two, this is a friendship fic and I wanted to attempt to imitate Sherlock's mind and thought process. Thanks for reading! :D**

**Love, Faust**

**"The Deduction of John Watson"**

**By Graffiti2DMyHeart**

Sherlock blearily opened his eyes and blinked. He slowly rose up from his slouching position on the sofa and looked around. 221 B Baker Street remained quiet and tranquil, albeit from the calm, content hum of traffic outside. He didn't quite remember falling asleep and grew annoyed at the prospect of needing sleep. He shifted slightly, the gears in his brain spinning faster and processing the environment rapidly.

_Newspaper, larger than the weekly issue. Unfolded, read. All of the ads put in it meant that it was Sunday. Coffee rings staining the job section. John. Tired. Woke up. No luck in the unemployment section. Either no jobs available or not searching for employment. Most likely the latter because John had been desperate taking the hospital job. Overqualified. Not worth the time or money. _

Sherlock smirked at the prospect of John accepting the offerings of money the he himself was too bored or uninterested to collect. They both had a silent understanding that it was alright to accept cash, especially if it was from Mycroft. Sherlock loved swindling money from his brother. Plus John became cranky when he was stressed about the bills. Sherlock frowned as he thought that he didn't like a cranky John. He would complain more about the bills than saying anything useful, such as quaint deductions or "I'm going to pick up some milk."

Sherlock raised his gaze towards the kitchen where he could see there was a note stuck to the fridge. He didn't know why John still bothered. It was obvious.

_Missing shoes and coat. John's cane moved, as if he picked it up out of habit, but didn't need it. A pen lied by a notepad with a page torn off of the top. A list. The coffee ring had already stained and dried. Over an hour old. Grocery Ads lying on top of stacks. Wallet previously strewn carelessly about was placed neatly on the coffee table._

Sherlock didn't need to fingerprint it to know that it was John who touched it last.

_Dishes in the sink tell that there was a meager amount for breakfast, so nothing then for lunch. Carton sticking out of trash can says that we are out of milk. Sufficient evidence to support hypothesis. Conclusion: John's out shopping. Should be back shortly. Time of arrival can vary twenty minutes due to swell of traffic. _

A clamor downstairs and the sound of a door opening alerted Sherlock.

_Ah. Fast driver. Manuel Jimenez. Knows shortcuts. Tipped extra. Must be good sales at the store. _

"Sherlock! You awake?" Such a silly question. It would defeat the purpose of asking it because the noise, in itself, would wake him up. More rustling could be heard downstairs.

_Mrs. Hudson must be out. _

"Sherlock? I could really use your help with these groceries!"

Sherlock snorted. Must be a big Sunday sale. Carrying groceries was not in the description of a "flat mate". He stood up, intending to grab his violin or search for his skull, when a blanket fluttered down to pool by his feet. He picked it up and stared at it.

_Still warm from body heat. Hand stitched. A mother's touch. Not mine. Either Mrs. Hudson's or John's. _

He sniffed it and closed his eyes, trying to pinpoint the scent. A mixture of cologne and a tinge of an earthy smell.

_John's. Not Mrs. Hudson's. She is more of a spicy ginger and cinnamon. _

"Sherlock?" The call was more feeble and devoid of hope. Slow footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs.

Watson struggled with all of his shopping. He chided himself for purchasing so much, but they were in need of food and eating takeout everyday was starting to become, to borrow a phrase from Sherlock, "dull". He could have honestly left some lying by the front and made two trips, but his soldiers pride prevented him. He knew Sherlock wouldn't help, and probably wasn't even home. He climbed desperately and tried to keep purchase on his items, but he could feel the bags slipping from his fingers. This was bad.

He gave one final shout before he felt the bag slip from his left hand. A sturdy hand caught the bag effortlessly and Watson looked up, surprised to see Sherlock who was giving him an inquiring eyebrow raise.

As Sherlock was taking more groceries from a bewildered John Watson, he thought, _"While carrying groceries is not in the description of "flat mate", helping out is in the description of a "friend"._

**_A/N: So what did you think of my Sherlock impression? Lame? Good? Any comments? Thank you for reading!_**

**_Love, Faust_**


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